


Quest

by shutupeccles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows Fix, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupeccles/pseuds/shutupeccles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in and around Hogwarts is in turmoil as the Dark Lord exerts his authority. Rebels hide in unlikely places and the traditional scavenger hunt for Seventh Years wields unlikely prizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quest

There had been fretful talk among final year students that the Yule Scavenge Quest would be cancelled now Snape was Headmaster of Hogwarts. First to complete their quest earned a personal prize as well as a special privilege. Previous victors could not go into detail because each quest, prize and privilege was unique to individual participants.  
   
Seventh Years congregated in the Headmaster’s office on their first day. Twice this many students began their first year with Draco. Slytherin was the only House with no absences. Snape waited for silence before speaking in his usual level drawl. “The Dark Lord insisted I dispense with what he sees as a needless tradition. Possibly because it remains the only prize he failed to win while attending Hogwarts, but you did not hear that from me.” Snape purred and the students stared with wide eyes at his presumption. “Luckily for you, I have almost convinced him that the competition developed by Salazar Slytherin would indeed separate the cream from the wasted space.”  
   
Draco’s grey eyes followed Snape’s swift beetle-black irises to Longbottom. The anticipated smirk never reached Draco’s lips. Longbottom stared at the portraits behind Snape with stern determination. Draco had to look away.  
   
“Whilst the Dark Lord makes up his mind on this matter, you will not find the Sorting Hat in a room behind the restricted section of the library by placing _Molested by Minotaurs and other dark fantasies_ upside down on the lowest shelf. Placing the Sorting Hat upon your head will **not** produce a list of items to locate or tasks to perform. Am I understood?”  
   
Draco looked at his fellow Seventh Years. Crabbe and Goyle clearly didn’t understand what Snape was on about. Draco would have to explain it to them—as usual. Longbottom seemed not only to get it, but to appreciate Snape’s subtle disobedience. He also appeared confident, capable. Draco didn’t like it. Longbottom needed taking down a peg or two.  
   
He caught Draco sneering and went to great pains to ‘casually’ descend the spiral stairs beside him. “Don’t suppose you’d consider killing another Headmaster, Malfoy? Although it might be difficult getting Snape to help you this time.”  
   
“Blood traitor,” was the best retort Draco could come up with. How dare weedy Neville Longbottom speak to him so boldly!  
   
“My soul’s as pure as my blood Malfoy. Can you say the same? And before you try for another witty comeback, I’d rather have both parents in the loony ward of St Mungo’s than a single Death Eater in the family.” Longbottom strode forward, a long stride because he’d gotten so much taller over summer, leaving Draco to simmer over everything he’d said. Something profound had happened to Longbottom during the past two years. He’d changed. Draco didn’t like it.  
   
Or rather, he did like it—and that’s what he didn’t like.  
   
*~~~*  
   
The Slytherin seniors went to the restricted section as a group. Pansy Parkinson inverted _Molested by Minotaurs and other dark fantasies_ , attempting to flirt with Draco by suggesting they should read that one together. Draco already decided during the summer that he wasn’t that desperate to shag a pureblood. Not that he’d developed an unnatural interest in Muggles, Mudbloods, or half-breeds, Grindelwald no. He simply concluded dying a virgin was preferable to banging Parkinson.  
   
A pair of female Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff exited the hidden room, giggling over their lists as the Slytherins entered. For the first time since Draco entered Hogwarts the Sorting Hat did not sing or rhyme. It stated the rules plainly.  
   
“You cannot cheat. Requirements are magically crossed off and dated as they are met. Once your quest is complete, locate the Sorting Hat and return your list. The first quester to do so before Christmas Day will be granted one prize and one privilege. All questing sheets will vanish once a winner is declared.”  
   
The Slytherins also compared lists with their friends. Each list required the same six items: a single gold strand from the tail of a unicorn foal, one fingerprint marked in in Phoenix ash, your first memory of Hogwarts, one Diricawl egg, the thanks of a House Elf, and a genuine smile from Professor McGonagall; as well as another dozen specific to each participant.  
   
Draco was surprised to see ‘thanks of a House Elf’ already struck from his quest. He certainly never sought gratitude from a wretched House Elf, particularly not pathetic Dobby. He checked the magically inscribed date and laughed. Kreacher had shown up at Malfoy Manor to sniff Aunt Bellatrix’s boots or something and Draco told him to ‘sod off back to Grimmauld Place and do whatever you do all day, which clearly isn’t fulfilling the duties of a House Elf.’ Kreacher had bowed low and said ‘Thank you Master Draco’ and disapparated.  
   
Crabbe and Goyle discussed – not very subtly – using the Imperius curse on McGonagall to make her smile. Draco kept his mouth shut for two reasons. The quest demanded a genuine smile, imbeciles. Most importantly, the Dark Lord hand-picked the Professors this year, keeping those whose talents and pureblood status he admired and replacing those he didn’t with Death Eaters. If Draco’s former acolytes chose to cross the Dark Lord by cursing teachers he respected, then on their own hollow heads be it.  
   
A few tasks were repeated within the group: swap the gargoyles between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Towers; order from a Weasleys Wizard Wheezes catalogue in the name of Argus Filch; give breasts to the breast-plates of all suits of armour on the third floor; add stick-figure enemies to the portrait of Sir Cadogan; blow Fluttering Lipstick Kisses to Professor… and so forth. Gargoyles and armour breasts were on Draco’s, along with take a Niffler to double potions, put a braided wig on a Thestral, sing the Ravenclaw song during Charms, use the Pumpkin-Head hex on a Prefect, and one requiring a second person.  
   
 _Fornicate with a pureblood beneath a Christmas tree in the Great Hall during breakfast_  
   
He didn’t mention that task to anyone, although he sardonically muttered that the Sorting Hat could be more specific by naming a fellow fornicator and describing what position they should do it in.  
   
Draco was desperate to win this challenge to regain individual and familial credibility. He stared with analytical gaze at everyone in Dark Arts. Inbreeding to maintain pure bloodlines may do wonders for unicorns and dragons, but it did the opposite for witches. What a bunch of Grindylows! It was a sad commentary on female beauty when pudgy pug-faced Pansy Parkinson won best in show. But she was a pureblood, she’d have to do.  
   
“Longbottom’s the only boy from Gryffindor to come this year, while Granger’s the only girl to stay away,” Pansy crapped on about half-blood and Mudblood orgies at the Weasley house then snorted at her own bitchy genius.  
   
Draco decided he didn’t want to win that badly after all.  
   
*~~~*  
   
Midway between Halloween and Christmas, there were three items causing scavengers the most trouble: Phoenix ash fingerprint, smile from McGonagall, and thanks of a House Elf. Crabbe and Goyle tried their Imperius idea in the third week of September and Snape used the Cruciatus Curse on them in front of the entire school. Draco had laughed; dickheads. Longbottom had wordlessly raised his wand against the Headmaster. Draco’s laughter caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure why.  
   
Since then, McGonagall had been showered with gifts, compliments, and offers of assistance. Instead of inducing smiles, these efforts caused her lips to purse tighter with every passing day until it resembled a Niffler’s arsehole. On a whim, Draco approached the staff table, conjured a decorative flower and transfigured it into a drinking straw before handing it to the astonished professor.  
   
“What’s this, Mr Malfoy?”  
   
“Your mouth seems to be affected by a minimiser jinx, Professor. While it makes the corridors quieter and lessons more enjoyable, it must make eating difficult.” Draco returned to the Slytherin table without waiting for her reaction, and turned when she called his name.  
   
“Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall sounded genuinely amused. “Summon a dry sherry sweet cherry cocktail to drink with it and I may just become merry enough to smile.”  
   
This proved no difficulty as that particular cocktail was his mother’s favourite. Snape inspected the liquid appearing in a crystal goblet, and finding no trickery allowed McGonagall to taste it.  
   
“Mm,” she smacked her lips and sipped again. “Well done Mr Malfoy! Should you fail your NEWTS you can gain quite a reputation at any tavern – as a barman,” McGonagall added hastily. Then she smiled.  
   
Longbottom watched Draco with curious appraisal. Draco didn’t like it, but his cock did. He scooched as close to the table as he could and opened his Quest requirements over his lap to disguise what was happening. A thin gold line had appeared through _a genuine smile from Professor McGonagall_ with the time and date being added as he watched. That only left the Phoenix ash fingerprint to find and the pureblood under a Christmas tree to do. Nowhere did it stipulate that the pureblood had to be female. He questioned why his eyes automatically turned to the Gryffindor table, and why he felt disappointment when he discovered Longbottom had gone.  
   
*~~~*  
   
December began and finding one fingerprint marked in Phoenix ash proved easier than expected. So easy in fact, Draco wasn’t aware he’d found it until the Scavenger Quest fell out of his potions book. He’d only gone from his cauldron to the supply cupboard and back since the last time he checked the fraying parchment, and was certain he’d shoved it into his pocket as usual. Out of curiosity, Draco checked the alternate names of ingredients and there it was: _Farquhar’s Rejuvenating Powder – dust of the reborn; Phoenix Ash_  
   
That grey smudge he’d stared at, **casually spotted** on Longbottom’s cheek must have been the fingerprint marked in Phoenix ash.  
   
“Thank you, Longbottom,” Draco crowed. “I’ve only got one thing left. Then prize and privilege are mine.”  
   
Longbottom wore what was becoming a characteristic expression of superior authority, which was rather intimidating because he didn’t do it on purpose. That look and the last task on Draco’s list came together in the raunchiest, most satisfying nocturnal fantasy of Draco’s adolescence. Screw the Scavenger Quest. Draco’s ultimate goal was to be screwed by Neville Longbottom.  
   
*~~~*  
   
Seductive arts were less familiar than Dark ones.  
   
Draco snogged girls from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang during the Triwizard Tournament, and played Spin the Petrified Bowtruckle at friends’ parties, but had never actively pursued someone. Plus, Longbottom was leading the student resistance against You Know Who’s-staying-at-my-house-and-being-an-utter-prick. He was hardly going to say ‘yeah alright’ if Draco said ‘fancy a snog?’ under a corridor full of mistletoe, let alone agree to a quick nookie beneath a Christmas tree in the dining hall.  
   
The fantasy ate at him. The act had to match the dream, not some stupid list defecated out of an enchanted hat…  
   
Draco wondered what the Sorting Hat saw inside his mind to produce that particular task. Had it planted the fantasy, or were the seeds already there? He was worrying over this question on the way to dinner when a Christmas tree grabbed his arm. Ornaments shifted noisily as Longbottom dragged him through the branches and into the corner hidden by the huge tree.  
   
“Shut it Malfoy,” Neville said before Draco’s brain thought to ask ‘what?’ then immediately snogged him. It was rushed and pretty crap. The lack of quality shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. Draco’s mouth deliberately dominated until Neville took the hint and matched his pace. Once their rhythms matched, the meeting of lips quickened to match their heartbeats.  
   
It was urgent.  
   
It was hot.  
   
It was ridiculous.  
   
They came in their robes without laying a hand on each other.  
   
“Hufflepuff’s h-underpants Longbottom, if this is how you recruit for the resistance…”  
   
Neville grinned as he sidled away from Draco and out from behind the tree. Draco Vanished the creamy load in his underpants, counted to ten, and left from the other side.  
   
*~~~*  
   
Increasing tension between Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom was interpreted by outsiders as increased animosity. Glances and stares exchanged while no-one was looking burned holes low in Draco’s robes.  
   
“Fuck—You!” Draco angrily declared during a confrontation between children of Death Eaters and those sired by the Order of the Phoenix.  
   
“You—Wish!” Neville countered.  
   
Draco wanked himself raw during the following free period.  
   
*~~~*  
   
The parchment didn’t read _Fornicate with a pureblood Gryffindor male in the Hippogriff position beneath a Christmas tree in the Great Hall during breakfast_. Draco reluctantly concluded that the fantasy came purely from within.  
   
*~~~*  
   
Longbottom spent the majority of free periods in detention, so it wasn’t precisely coincidence when Draco ‘happened’ to drop his wand and kick it under the door to the Carrows’ favourite torture chamber.  
   
“Where’s you army, Longbottom?” Draco drawled as he sauntered in to pick up his wand. He did not know Neville was chained to the wall in here alone when he dropped his wand, no sir-ree.  
   
“Searching for your conscience, Malfoy,” Neville replied. “I don’t expect them back for Christmas.”  
   
“You’ve developed quite a clever mouth, Longbottom.” Draco stood on a chair so they were face-to-face but not quite nose-to-nose.  
   
Neville was scratched, bloodied, bruised, yet entirely bold and unbeaten. “You’ve developed quite a fixation with me, Malfoy.”  
   
“Pureblood leading the way, what’s not to admire – appreciate, I meant approve of.”  
   
“I’d appreciate it if you went away.”  
   
Draco kissed him without expecting to be kissed back. When Neville responded with a much-improved snog, Draco dropped his wand by genuine accident. Tongues and gyrating hips got involved this time. It felt like everything stopped around them, until they broke for air.  
   
“You know I think you’re a slimy, cowardly, little toerag, don’t you Malfoy?”  
   
“Think you’re the first Gryffindor to say that, do you? Hardly original. Perhaps your mouth,” Draco nipped Neville’s bottom lip, “isn’t as clever as I thought.”  
   
Neville’s mouth proved it was a quick learner by recapturing Draco’s. This snog almost made Draco jizz again. _Oh_ — _mh-uh_ —no almost about it. Crap.  
   
“Why haul me into a Christmas tree to snog my face off if you hate me so much?”  
   
“My final task is to help you complete one of yours.”  
   
Draco’s drowsy cock perked up again at that.  
   
“I was hoping to distract you with a snog,” Neville continued, “filch your list, choose the easiest, and complete the Quest. I didn’t expect you to be so into it.”  
   
“Me? You came first, both times,” Draco reminded him while rummaging through Longbottom’s robes in search of his scavenger parchment.  
   
“I didn’t expect you to be incredible at it, either.”  
   
“I happen to be incredible at quite a lot of things. Killing Dumbledore when my family’s lives depend on it just isn’t one of them.”  
   
Neville laughed. “I can’t believe I was terrified of you when we were children.”  
   
“I can’t believe you’re not actually an idiot. Aha, success!” Draco removed the parchment from Neville’s pocket. He jumped down from the chair, moved it further from Neville to better appreciate the view, and sat to read Longbottom’s Scavenger Quest. “You mean to tell me _‘Lead Hogwarts students in revolt against the Dark Lord’_ **isn’t** on here?” He sat back and crossed his legs with a dramatic billow of robe. “I **am** impressed!”  
   
Neville smiled with reflexive amusement and pride. Draco realised he’d thought of Longbottom as ‘Neville’ several times, but that was a minor concern considering the Noseless One held court in Father’s house.  
   
“ _Help your enemy fulfil a Quest requirement_. Sorry Neville.” Centaur crap, now he’d **called** Longbottom ‘Neville’. “I’ve only got one left and I doubt you’d be willing to do that. Ask one of your other mortal foes.”  
   
“Your delightful aunty and our friendly Headmaster top you on my enemies list, but I doubt they’re playing.”  
   
Draco leaned forward—legs still crossed—and tapped Neville’s open parchment thoughtfully against the upper knee. “If you don’t be quiet Longbottom, I’m going to start thinking you’re alright.” He refolded the list, stood on the chair again, patted Neville’s cheek with the parchment and tucked it into Neville’s robes. Then he moved in as though to kiss him again, only to retreat with a teasing wink, leapt off the chair, and picked up his wand on the way to the door.  
   
“Draco,” Neville called. Draco responded so quickly to Neville’s voice, that he’d suspect he was under an Imperius Curse if he didn’t know he wanted to turn. “You must be an easy lay if an ‘alright’ snog from me gets you off.”  
   
“Bring those shackles to the Prefect’s bathroom tomorrow night and you’ll see.” Draco doubted Neville’s astonishment compared to his own. Did he really proposition Neville Longbottom for a night of kinky bath sex?  
   
Did Neville really say “Yeah, I will” in a husky voice as Draco left the room?  
   
*~~~*  
   
The next morning, Draco lurked in the Christmas tree closest to the Gryffindor table and when Neville walked past in search of breakfast…  
   
“Oof.” Neville was winded and a branch almost took his eye out as Draco dragged him in.  
   
“About that Prefect bathroom thing yesterday…”  
   
“I didn’t think you meant it seriously.”  
   
They nodded in silent, dopey denial. Their eyes asked several questions and must also have provided answers because Neville’s hand suddenly clutched Draco’s hip.  
   
“Try and wait until I at least get a hand in your pants this time,” Neville teased while reaching up Draco’s robes.  
   
“You must have bewitched me or something.” Draco angled his torso so Neville could cop a decent feel of his side, back, ribs, hip – everywhere he wanted to, really. “It’s unnatural to be so horny.”  
   
“Tell me about it.” Neville held his eyes before their lips met, and Draco knew they’d been struggling through the same confusion and doubts since term began. “Although, I wouldn’t say be _witched_ ,” Neville practically moaned the word as he pressed their bodies close. ‘Witch’ was definitely out of place in this situation.  
   
Draco’s hands frantically found a way under Neville’s robes to grasp his bum. They performed a strange grinding movement, almost like an intimate dance, as they hurriedly worked their hands into each other’s trousers to hold and squeeze buttocks.  
   
“Don’t ask me why I imagined your bum would be slightly hairy,” Draco muttered in surprise when he discovered Neville’s wasn’t.  
   
Neville sort of chortled. “I knew yours would be a small round thing,” he whispered.  
   
Neither questioned how long they’d been contemplating each other’s bums. No further energy was wasted on talking as hands explored other areas. They didn’t kiss anymore, because that alone brought them off. Gasps, moans, and panted breaths were stifled against robed shoulders as they handled balls and stroked cocks. Neville’s was tall and slightly stocky, particularly at the top. Draco’s fingers relished the feel of it, soft skin over hard muscle, silky and veined, hot and throbbing. Draco didn’t care what Neville thought of his, he certainly didn’t seem disappointed. His knees bent and his back arched as Neville whacked him off.  
   
“Going to come,” he admitted breathlessly.  
   
“Me too.” Instead of backing off, Neville pressed forward with his shoulders so Draco had no choice but to kneel and then lay on the floor. Neville was on top of him, hands cupping his bum and holding up his hips as Neville thrust against him. Their cocks rubbed together and just as the friction threatened to become painful, they shuddered and came.  
   
“Does this count as fornication, do you think?” Neville’s lips followed his hot breath across Draco’s ear, down his neck, and into his collar, but none of that countered the sweep of ice through his veins.  
   
“What?”  
   
“Check your list. We might have to do it again.”  
   
The ice spread to Draco’s marrow. His hands quickly began adjusting his clothes. “How did…?”  
   
“Pinched it in Potions, the day we made the restorative using Farquhar’s. I would’ve thought this’d be crossed off by December first. Lucky me, hey?”  
   
Pieces of something fell into place. Draco pushed Neville away. “ **Before** you snogged me behind that other Christmas tree?” Draco had yet to recall there was a room, indeed an entire world beyond the tree they were under. The First Year Gryffindors nearby stared at each other and moved away along the table.  
   
Neville’s expression could be best described as ‘Gloat!’ Draco scrabbled to his feet, getting the back of his robes caught in the tree’s lower branches in his effort to escape. Longbottom’s fingers grasped his elbow like talons.  
   
“Suck a Blast-Ended Skrewt, Longbottom.”  
   
Longbottom was surprisingly strong and his new determination held Draco in place while he rummaged through Draco’s robes in search of the Quest sheet.  
   
“Help, rape,” Draco said in a flatly acidic voice.  
   
Longbottom’s blank expression didn’t change as he snapped his wrist to flick open the folded parchment and read it. “Same time tomorrow, Malfoy. Be ready for me.”  
   
Draco reached for the parchment. Longbottom snatched it out of reach. “I’ll keep hold of this. Don’t want some Death Eater beating me to it after all the work I’ve put in.”  
   
“Here’s at least two reasons we won’t be meeting like this again: 1 – you helped me already. I found the fingerprint on your stupid face. Snape has several requirements that could be fulfilled with a blowjob, go help him. 2 – Perhaps you’re blood status is in doubt.”  
   
“Firstly Malfoy, that last point isn’t the insult you intend it to be. Secondly,” Neville savagely stabbed him in the eye with a folded corner of parchment and then pissed off with a heavy tread.  
   
Draco roughly scrunched the Quest into a pocket and left the hall without breakfast. He didn’t pay attention in lessons and avoided Longbottom more effectively than Kreacher avoided housework. He didn’t go to the hall for lunch or dinner. He ignored everyone in the Slytherin common room until he vaguely heard Head Boy Blaise Zabini order all students to bed.  
   
*~~~*  
   
“Did you give a House Elf clothes, Malfoy?” Zabini asked in irritation when they entered their dorm room. “Your bed resembles a Muggle hovel.”  
   
“Bitch-face Bulstrode is supposed to make my bed and do House Elfish crap like that for three days. Guess she doesn’t want to complete her Quest after all.”  
   
“Have you read Millicent’s requirements?”  
   
Draco shrugged. He couldn’t remember much beyond the morning’s mortification. Seduced, by Longbottom!  
   
“She used that as an excuse to get herself off in your bed while wearing your underwear,” Goyle said as he came in. “Me and Crabbe caught her at it when we came looking for you during breakfast.”  
   
“Then why aren’t the House Elves doing their job?” Probably because Kreacher now serves Saint Potter and Dobby told the Hogwarts Elves that Draco was a prick. As though that was news to anybody! Draco never expected Longbottom to be such a malicious prick, though. It didn’t miss Draco’s attention that he’d become ‘Longbottom’ again. It took longer to process what Goyle said about Bulstrode. “ **Eurgh**!! Disgusting bitch!” His face contorted at the horrors committed in this room. Today was officially the worst day ever. “I’m off to complain to Slughorn about this. Burn those sheets – and all my underpants.”  
   
“You dropped something.” Zabini picked up Draco’s Scavenger Quest. It had fallen from his pocket again. Zabini opened it before Draco could snatch it back. “Why haven’t you put this in the Hat?”  
   
“I’ve got one left.” Draco’s voice tapered off as Zabini held out the open parchment which read _Yule Scavenge Quest Complete: Draco Malfoy, December 18 at 07:45am_. It only took a matter of seconds for items to be crossed off. By the time Longbottom read it—he would have known! _Same time tomorrow_? He’d been arranging a date.  
   
“Why are you standing there looking as intelligent as Crabbe? I’ll tell Slughorn about Bawdy Bulstrode. Get your skinny white arse to the restricted section and gain us some wicked privileges! Your Head Boy commands you.”  
   
Draco dashed off for the library via the Gryffindor common room. “You, First Year, send that ponce Longbottom out or I’ll tell the Dark Lord that Harry Potter’s hiding under your bed.” He flashed his Dark Mark. The girl squeaked in terror and ran back through the portrait of an enormously fat witch in a gaudy pink frock. The painted lady glowered at him, so Draco immobilised her and used his wand to give her a moustache Slughorn would envy before the portrait swung open again.  
   
“It’s just you. When Prissy said there was a Death Eater out here, I thought she meant a real one.”  
   
Draco ignored Longbottom’s remark. He felt the same way long before his first attempt to kill Dumbledore failed. He waved the completed Scavenger Quest in silent accusation. He hadn’t a clue what to say.  
   
For the first time since the school year began, Longbottom resembled his junior, bumbling, non-threatening self. He recovered quickly. “So you found someone to finish it off with. Run along and claim your victory.”  
   
“You knew it counted, which means you finished too. Why haven’t you returned yours to the gibbering hat? I know you haven’t because these are supposed to vanish once a winner is declared.”  
   
“You’re pissed that I didn’t claim the prize?”  
   
“I’m pissed at the universe in general, Longbottom, particularly the magical portion.”  
   
“Fancy punching me in the face for old times’ sake to relieve some tension? Or have you figured out why I lied?”  
   
“Shut up.” The portraits could hear them. Draco hauled Neville into the nearest empty classroom and performed the Muffliato and Impervious charms he’d learned from Snape. If they kept Nagini out of Draco’s bedroom at Malfoy Manor they’d keep nosy Kneazles at bay. “Give me your Questing sheet. We can get back at that hat for pissing us around by submitting both at once. Both were completed at the same time. See how it copes with that ‘there can only be one winner’ stipulation when there’s two valid… what?” Draco preferred kick-arse BAMF Neville to the nervous version that suddenly reappeared.  
   
“I don’t have one. I wasn’t playing. People have been dropping the stupid things everywhere. That one you found in my pocket was Lavender Brown’s. I found it in a corridor the day after I picked up yours in Potions. When I saw what she had left and that task of yours, I thought it made a brilliant excuse to… I kind of regretted not getting one. The Yule Scavenger Quest would have provided a nice distraction from this He Who Must Not Be Maimed business.”  
   
“Yesterday I told you to shut up before I started thinking you were alright.”  
   
“You also suggested bathroom-bondage sex, which was almost as funny. Go claim your prize, privilege, and glory, Draco. That’s what you Slytherins live for.”  
   
They collided painfully in Draco’s rush to lock lips and hips. “I claim the privilege of a morning glory with Neville Longbottom at the time and place of his choosing.”  
   
“When the war is over, at your house – or can I make my choice some other time? So many options…”  
   
“Fine, whatever. Stop talking and fuck me.” Did Draco actually say that? He must have done because Neville transfigured the desk they were leaning against into a big, comfortable bed, which they fell on—naked. “You used to be crap at spells.”  
   
“Just needed something better to focus on than my fear.” Neville rolled them over so he was above Draco. He wore that expression of superior authority again and Draco’s cock went into hysterics.  
   
“My prize,” Draco insisted, “don’t look at anyone else like that, only me.”  
   
“Only you,” Neville agreed. He slid inside, far more easily than Draco anticipated…  
   
And Draco woke up in an armchair of the Slytherin common room. He fumbled in his pocket, hoping at least part of the dream was based on fact. The parchment Longbottom tried to blind him with wasn’t his Scavenger Quest.  
   
 _This is a dangerous game we’re playing, and a perilous time to play it. Whatever happens, you aren’t my enemy._  
   
*~~~*  
   
Students at all House tables watched intently as Draco Malfoy approached Neville Longbottom with characteristic malice and hit him across the top of his head with a tightly folded parchment.  
   
“Questing sheet, if you please. And yours,” Draco demanded. So one element of the dream was accurate, Draco’s quest was complete. Neville’s wasn’t. He still had an enemy to assist. His message wasn’t a lie. Draco returned Neville’s sheet with the other message inside it. Then he tore his completed Yule Scavenger Quest into pieces. “This isn’t a game, and I’m not playing.”  
   
The pieces vanished, as did every incomplete Yule Scavenger Quest.  
   
“That was fortuitous timing,” Luna Lovegood declared calmly. “What a wonderful dramatic effect.”  
   
Draco squinted at her, waiting for the punch line. When he realised there wasn’t one he scowled threateningly at Neville and returned to the Slytherin table.  
   
Neville provided further evidence of his true intelligence by waiting to read the amended message.  
   
 _This is a perilous time but it may be all the time we have. Whatever happens, or doesn’t, you aren’t my enemy._  
   
Draco didn’t look for a reaction. He knew there wouldn’t be one.  
   
*~~~*  
   
They tumbled on the transfigured bed from Draco’s dream in the ruins of Hagrid’s shack.  
   
Draco reached back to hold Neville’s head against his by the short, brown hair. “Huh-huh-huh,” he panted as Neville’s dick moved in and out of his arse in shorter, shallower pumps than before. “Not yet, not, huh.” It felt incredible sneaking about with Neville, pretending to loathe each other, fucking like crazy whenever an opportunity arose. Every time could be the last time, just as each sunset could bring the end. If they were going to die because of this then they were going to die like this. Their wands were always within reach.  
   
The familiar loss of muscle control began and Draco chanted “Come” when breath allowed. He couldn’t keep hold of Neville anymore and felt deceptively broad shoulders rise off his back.  
   
Neville’s hands gripped Draco’s wrists, pinning them to the bed either side of Draco’s head. He used the leverage gained to fuck him faster than he had last time, or the time before, or the time before that. The pounding sound of groin against buttocks made Neville groan. “Yes. Oorh-yes.”  
   
The noises they made, the heat of their bodies, the weight of Neville inside him, the sweat dripping from Neville to splash against Draco’s back, the scent of lubricant and masculine arousal provided more than a distraction from the horrors of the world. It gave them a reason to live when it would be easier not to.  
   
The rhythm of Neville’s thrusts faltered, his elbows bent, his fringe tickled Draco’s back between his shoulder blades and his hips made slow circles in one direction as he came. Draco tilted his hips up and rolled them in the opposite direction because it made Neville jolt in a manner that guaranteed Draco would come before Neville’s climax was over. Neville rapidly slid his hand under Draco to catch it and let his weight collapse on top of him. They made no effort to move beyond kissing desperately.  
   
“Tell me again,” Neville requested in his low, husky, post-coital voice as he held Draco close and wiggled possessively on top of him. “Not the entire dream, just what you think it means.”  
   
“The greatest privilege I could earn is to be your lover. Finding love in a frightful world is the ultimate prize.”  
   
Draco’s body quivered as Neville pressed small open kisses from behind Draco’s ear to his shoulder, then nestled his face in the curve of Draco’s neck.  
   
“You’re not a coward,” he murmured apologetically against Draco’s skin.  
   
“Not since I have something stronger than my fear to focus on.”  
   
Draco’s Dark Mark caught his attention in the usual fashion. He was being called home. They rapidly dressed then carefully removed Draco’s memories of their time together so the Dark Lord would never know. It was a rather bleak ‘I love you’ ritual on the surface but this way their love survived, even if Draco didn’t.  
   
“Piss off to your Death-Eater daddy, Malfoy. We’ll finish this later.”  
   
“We left something behind. I don’t want to jinx you.”  
   
“Stop holding on so tight.”  
   
“Pardon me for loving… Get your wand away from my head you pathetic waste of magical ancestry!”  
   
*~~~*  
   
Draco felt a dreadful wrenching sensation deep within, as though something most vital had been cut from his soul. He stared at the Fiendfyre stampeding through the Room of Hidden Things. What had he hidden here? Did seeing Crabbe die cause this pain? Before he neared a suitable answer, he had forgotten the question.  
   
*~~~* _epilogue_ *~~~*  
   
Scorpius was excited about Hogwarts and wouldn’t shut up about Professor Longbottom. It was Saint Potter all over again!  
   
“He wasn’t mean to me at all like you and Grandmamma feared. He said you gave him some things to look after the night Harry Potter finished off You Know Who-was-a-right-pain-in-the-proverbial, and made me practice saying that until I got it right.”  
   
Draco laughed in astonishment. He didn’t remember telling anyone what he truly thought of Voldemort, ever.  
   
“Professor Longbottom said he’s most dreadfully sorry that they were destroyed, but would you mind accepting these in their place.” The phial in Scorpius’ hand evoked images of Fiendfyre, confusion, terror, agony, and loss—plus something else. “It’s rather pretty but must be poisonous because he forbade me from opening it. What is it?”  
   
“I shan’t know until I look at it. Go and annoy your mother while I do. Now, Scorpius,” Draco added sternly as he bounced some anonymous person’s memories in the palm of his hand. What could Longbottom possibly want him to see? It wasn’t as though they’d ever stood the sight of each other. But then, how could Longbottom know the silly ways Draco referred to Voldemort inside his head?  
   
Without hesitation he went to the Pensieve inherited from Aunt Bellatrix. It was strange observing himself from Longbottom’s point of view, and sad. The memories began with the first day they met, at Fortescues in Diagon Alley, age six. Draco saw Father sneer at him for talking to the little blood traitor then saw his own expression change from friendly curiosity to match his father’s. Draco’s features were twisted in identical disapproval and Neville was disgusted or afraid in every memory as they matured. Then they were seventeen and he stared solidly into his own eyes as he made stifled, animalistic noises, saw his naked body through Neville’s eyes as they…  Draco immediately scooped the memories back into their container and apparated to the holiday house of Professor Neville Longbottom.  
   
*~~~*  
   
There were two strands of grey directly above Neville’s left eye. They held Draco’s gaze against his will.  
   
“Want to jinx me, or perhaps punch me in the face for old times’ sake?” Neville asked. Their eyes met.  
   
Draco had difficulty breathing. “What you gave Scorpius—tell me mine were like that, the later ones.”  
   
“Why?”  
   
“I hope… Did I love you as much as you believed I did?” The thought that he could have used Neville like that brought bile to his throat. Of all the horrid, wretched things Draco had done, this would be the vilest, cruellest and least forgivable.  
   
“More, actually, I was surprised myself considering you hated me so vehemently beforehand. It may have been possible to forget our relationship if I hadn’t waded through your memories before hiding them. Perhaps they can be restored by diving in to my recollections of looking at them.”  
   
“If they can’t?”  
   
“That’s the price we agreed to pay.” Neville’s sense of duty outweighed his regret, but only just. Draco had to know why.  
   
They sat close by Neville’s Pensieve, which was smaller yet fancier than the one in the Headmaster’s office. It was awkward so soon after feeling their faces pressed together in a more intimate setting. Neville gave him the chance to go home and forget about all of it.  
   
“What about you? Will you destroy yours if I leave?” Draco couldn’t bear the thought of extinguishing a light that shone briefly, yet so brightly in the bleakest darkness.  
   
“Why should it bother you if I do?” Neville asked sincerely.  
   
Draco explained what he felt nineteen years ago, that gaping emptiness bleeding for eternity. “No-one should have to endure that.”  
   
Neville kissed him, carefully. “I knew you weren’t a proper Death Eater.”  
   
They delved into their memories together. When they emerged, Draco reclaimed his privilege and his prize. He never forgot again.

 


End file.
